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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355907">and god, oh god, this goddamn weather</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeOfAwesomeness/pseuds/CupcakeOfAwesomeness'>CupcakeOfAwesomeness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Bisexual Character, Crushes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Getting Together, Groundhog Day, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Obviously 😌✨, Original Broadway Cast, References to Groundhog Day - All Media Types, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Time Loop, Time Skips, Unconventional Format, fast burn, not slow burn, the format is so weird and kinda poetic but felt right, unrealistic progression of a relationship loool</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:34:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupcakeOfAwesomeness/pseuds/CupcakeOfAwesomeness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>on thursday, october 31, 2019,<br/>it was raining,</i>
</p><p>  <i>and richard dylan goranski?</i><br/><i>he was drowning.</i></p><p> <br/> </p><p>[or: groundhog day au]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rich Goranski/Michael Mell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and god, oh god, this goddamn weather</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>🎶HEY EVERYBODY HAVE YOU HEARD<br/>JAYCE WROTE A NEW FANFIC<br/>NOW GO SPREAD THE WORD🎶</p><p>Very heavily influenced by antpelts' Kleinsen time loop fanfic, that's how I was inspired to write this, and also Groundhog Day (mainly the musical but the movie too I guess)</p><p>Um the format of this fic is,,, unconventional. A lot of spaces and paragraph breaks and time skips and short sections and stuff,,, idk it just felt right for this fic?? If you hate it,,, sorry?? Feel free to (POLITELY) suggest better ways I could format this if you want :)))</p><p> </p><p>TRIGGER WARNINGS: vague mentions of how Rich's dad is an alcoholic+abuses him, Rich attempts suicide a bunch of times, the SQUIP abuses Rich, Rich is depressed, underage drinking, and uhhhh unrealistic progression of a relationship lol</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>His eyes burst open. </p><p>
  <em> <code> You're up early, Richard.  </code> </em>
</p><p>He bolted upright, patting himself down rapidly, searching for any sign of injury or—or <em> ghostly glow </em> or anything to explain what he just experienced. It was just his unburned self in his unburned bed in his unburned house. He grappled for his phone on the bedside table. It slipped between his mattress and bed frame and he cursed loudly. His SQUIP raised an eyebrow. </p><p>
  <em> <code> What is causing you distress, Rich? My data shows no unrest or disturbing dreams. </code> </em>
</p><p>He ignored it still, managing to grasp his phone in his fingers, yanking it into his hands shakily. <em> C'mon, c'mon... </em> He unlocked it, swiping through twitter and instagram and even his old facebook account—nothing regarding a fire. He shuddered, rubbing his arms; it had felt so <em> real</em>. </p><p>
  <em> <code> What are you going on about?</code> </em>
</p><p><em> Nothing</em>, he shot back, stumbling out of bed and throwing open the curtains. </p><p>It was dreary and grey, rain beating down against the window pane and wind shaking the trees. He could see his father's beat up truck in the driveway, truck bed flooding with water. Everything was <em> exactly </em> as he remembered it from yesterday—or, his dream of today? His stomach churned. </p><p><em><code> Do not let whatever you are concerned over prevent you from attending Jake's Halloween party tonight</code></em>, his SQUIP commanded, watching him idly. Rich swallowed the lump in his throat. </p><p>
  <em> Yeah. Right.  </em>
</p><p>He took one final glance out the window. Nothing was different. What were the chances of that? </p><p>He turned to get ready for the day. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Richard Goranski had already lived through October 31, 2019. In the events of that day, he went to school, found a shoebox full of SQUIPs in his locker, attended his best friend's Halloween party, and then died in a house fire which he had intentionally set. It had <em> happened</em>—it was too vivid, too <em> painful</em>—yet here he was, dumbfounded and very much alive on October 31, 2019. </p><p>He grit his teeth and persisted. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 8:28 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>It was happening <em> again</em>. He pushed his way through the throngs of students, breathing quick. He was still shaken from his dream—dream, dream, dream, if he kept repeating it then it would be true, <em> dream</em>—last night. Everything was palpable and solid and present. Yesterday was yesterday, today was today, and his dream was a dream. </p><p>Still, he slammed directly into Anti-Social Headphones Kid, precisely as he had in his dream. He growled and barked out, “Watch it, Headphones!” </p><p>“My name is <em> Michael</em>,” the boy muttered, stepping off to the side either way.</p><p>(<em>Had Rich known his name before? How had he known it in his dream?</em>)</p><p>Rich stalked past him to class, having no time to hassle him any longer. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>It was all déjà vu: </p><p>Mr. Gretch tripped over Jake's legs, then reprimanded him; </p><p>Jeremy lent his pencil to Brooke; </p><p>Dustin flirted with Chloe, who flicked his forehead irascibly; </p><p>Jenna nagged him about a rumour she'd heard about him; </p><p>Brooke picked an eyelash off his cheek and told him to make a wish; </p><p>Madeline got chewed out for cursing in class; </p><p>and that was all only during his first two classes. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 11:46 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p><em><code> Open your locker</code></em>, the SQUIP demanded and his stomach dropped. </p><p>He knew what was in here.</p><p>Everything else had been the same. </p><p>But he couldn't disobey; </p><p>he unlocked it with trembling fingers. </p><p><em> Ladies' running shoes</em>, he thought. (He knew.) <em> How did this get here? </em></p><p><em><code> I have my ways. </code></em> (The same words, same cadence, same threat as his memory.) <em><code> You know what to do.  </code></em></p><p>He swallowed. </p><p>
  <em> <code> Take it. </code> </em>
</p><p>He closed his locker cautiously, deliberately mimicking his actions from his vision. <em> Tomorrow. At the play.  </em></p><p>His SQUIP appeared satisfied with that answer. Same smug grin. Same, same, <em> same</em>. </p><p>Everything was the same. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Afternoon was yet another mirror: </p><p>Jeremy whispered the same stupid anecdotes to him in Science;</p><p>Dustin gave the same incorrect answer when he was called on;</p><p>Mrs. Beechman had the same stupid ringtone when her phone went off in the middle of her lecture; </p><p>his SQUIP gave him the same prompt when he needed to draft a short story for English; </p><p>Jake asked him the same question after school, inquiring about his alcohol preference; </p><p>Brooke stopped by his locker to give him the same pen he had let her borrow in Science; </p><p>his father had the same brand of beer bottles surrounding him as he was conked out on the couch; </p><p>it was all the same, same,<em> same</em>!</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>It was all a perfect recreation. Maybe it wasn't a dream, but a <em> vision</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He was a prophet. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 9:45 PM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>When Jake offered him a drink, he downed it in one gulp, just as he had in his vision. </p><p>He was tired,</p><p>and who was he </p><p>to deny </p><p>an instruction</p><p>from God?</p><p>So he looked frantically for Mountain Dew Red, knowing it was to no avail,</p><p> </p><p>then he took the can of gasoline,</p><p> </p><p>and </p><p> </p><p>let</p><p> </p><p>himself</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>burn</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He was alive. </p><p>Again. </p><p> </p><p><em> Hey</em>, he asked his SQUIP, who stood in the same place it had last time, <em> is it possible to have dreams within dreams? </em></p><p>
  <em> <code> Anything is possible in the human cognition.  </code> </em>
</p><p>He hummed in acknowledgement, frowning. <em> What about premonition? </em></p><p>The computer took a moment to answer, image flickering briefly. Rich couldn't remember the last time it had <em> paused </em>to think. Could it even think? Was it just Googling an answer? </p><p><em><code> That has been a topic of debate for millennia</code></em>, it finally stated. <em><code> I believe you have heard of the Bible—prophecy, premonition, omens—all have been subject for controversy. There has been no scientific evidence to fully prove either side. </code></em>It side-eyed him. <em><code> Do you believe you are receiving such prognostication? </code></em></p><p><em> Just curious. </em> Rich wasn't sure why it was asking—it was inside his brain, after all—nor did he know why he was lying to it, though he did pose one final query. <em> What about time loops? Like, in Groundhog Day. Is that— </em></p><p><em><code> No. </code></em> The answer was immediate, no room for dismissal. <em><code> Time is not built to recur. Even if it were, why would it happen to YOU? </code></em></p><p> </p><p>It was right;</p><p>it always was.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 7:57 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He rode the bus. </p><p>His dad's pickup never drove well in the rain and, though Jake offered a ride, he declined. His SQUIP had told him to accept. (<em>He had complied the last two times.</em>) Still, he felt something foreboding bubbling in his stomach,</p><p>so, here he stood, </p><p>at the bus stop, </p><p>in the torrential downpour, </p><p>soggy and scowling, </p><p>alone. </p><p>He asked his SQUIP to deactivate, just for a moment, so he could be without its berating and complaining for a minute. It did so begrudgingly; he breathed. For once, loneliness was a relief. </p><p>The bus arrived moments later. He didn't bother reactivating his SQUIP yet. He boarded, shoes squelching as he walked down the aisle, eyes scanning the rows tiredly. </p><p>The only free seat was next to Headphones Kid, who stared out the window without a glance in his direction. Not eager to stand in the centre of the aisle like a soaking wet dumbass, he plopped down beside him, arms crossed, very deliberately not looking at him. Headphones flinched. </p><p>Normally, his SQUIP would've prompted him to kick the boy out, or forcefully switch with someone at the very least, but Rich was exhausted.</p><p>He didn't have the energy to be a bully right now;</p><p>he just wanted to get to school</p><p>and hope things were different. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 8:28 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He smacked into Headphones again in the bustling hallway. He spat out the same remark as before; Headphones once again reminded him of his name. </p><p>(<em>Michael</em>.)</p><p>His SQUIP told him to walk faster if he wanted to get to class on time. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Everything else remained unchanged.</p><p>He still came to the same conclusion. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 9:45 PM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>So he tried again.</p><p> </p><p>Flames consumed him,</p><p> </p><p>burning,</p><p> </p><p>peeling,</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>hurting,</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>and</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He woke up unharmed. </p><p>His phone told him it was Halloween. </p><p> </p><p>Again. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 8:28 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He and Headphones collided. </p><p>“Watch it, Headphones!”</p><p>“My name is <em> Michael</em>.”</p><p>(<em>Michael, Michael, Michael</em>.)</p><p>
  <em> <code>There is no need to remember his name, Richard.</code>  </em>
</p><p>He nodded, continuing on his way. Michael's name rang through his head like a song. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>A shoebox full of SQUIPs sat untouched in his locker. </p><p>He didn't want this. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 9:45 PM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>Third time's the charm. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>Fuck. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 7:00 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p><em> I'm serious</em>, he argued, pacing his bedroom feverishly. <em> I keep reliving this day over and over.  </em></p><p><em> <code>You're delusional, Richard</code></em>, the SQUIP replied, shaking its head in disdain. It looked at him like he was a huge disappointment; he silently agreed. <em> <code>Perhaps you should return to sleep. School is not of utmost importance today. Set your alarm for an hour before the party; that is the only event you must attend.</code> </em></p><p>He obeyed. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He dreamt of nothing. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 8:54 PM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>Nobody asked why he wasn't at school. Did any of them even notice he had been gone? His stomach twisted.</p><p>He took the drink that Jake offered.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he would just go home.</p><p>Go to sleep.</p><p>Stay drunk.</p><p>Let his father beat him.</p><p>Discard all of the pills in his locker.</p><p>Commit a crime.</p><p>Read a book.</p><p>Learn to dance.</p><p>Masturbate.</p><p>Move to Canada.</p><p>Play poker.</p><p>Crash a car. <br/><br/><br/></p><p> </p><p>In the end, he still set himself on fire. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He was beginning to think this would never end. </p><p>
  <em> <code>What is going on with you, Richard? </code> </em>
</p><p>He whipped his head around to stare at the hologram by his bookshelf. It was glowering at him; he could feel his throat closing up. </p><p><em> I keep living this day</em>, he responded, tiredly. His SQUIP scoffed. </p><p>
  <em> <code>Do you genuinely believe that you are existing in this day repeatedly?</code> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I—I do. I am! Halloween keeps happening. </em>
</p><p><em> <code>Interesting. My host is going insane</code></em>, it sneered. He felt a chill run down his spine, which was replaced by a sharp shock. <em> <code>I do not know what is causing this mental break, however, I intend to stop it. </code> </em></p><p><em> Stop it...? </em> His blood ran cold. <em> What does that mean? </em></p><p>Electric currents ran through his body and he flailed in agony. </p><p>“Stop it!” he yelled, not even caring he was speaking aloud. “Stop! I'm not crazy—I just don't want to live this fucking day anymore!”</p><p><em> <code>No.</code> </em> It stepped toward him, shocking him again, then again, and again— <em> <code>Not until you have been healed. </code> </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:33 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He knew where his dad's beer was. </p><p> </p><p>He knew where his dad's gun was, too. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Maybe fire wasn't the solution. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> BANG! </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He hadn't even felt pain that time, it had been so quick. </p><p>He could see his SQUIP hovering there and he just wanted it to <em> leave</em>. It was saying something. He didn't care. </p><p>He stormed downstairs and swiped up a beer bottle from the fridge. </p><p> </p><p>This time, he plugged in the hair dryer, filled up the bathtub, and combined the two. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>Another day, another drink.</p><p> </p><p>After the alcohol, he poured himself a nice tall glass of bleach. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>Beer and then a noose. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>Drink, drive, swerve, semi. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>Alcohol first, roof second. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He was really starting to hate beer. </p><p> </p><p>He poised the kitchen knife over his ribcage. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>Cheap beer, baggy eyes, </p><p>expensive jacket; </p><p>slow walk, green light, </p><p>fast car. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>This was getting old. </p><p>
  <em> <code>WHAT ARE YOU DOING, RICHARD? </code> </em>
</p><p>He sighed wearily, raising the beer bottle to his lips. </p><p> </p><p>He had never been so thankful his dad kept all his brother's old medication. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He kept his eyes closed. It was Halloween again, he already knew that. What was the point of getting out of bed? </p><p>He ignored his SQUIP screaming at him. The shocks barely phased him. The attempts to control his limbs failed. </p><p> </p><p>He was just <em> so tired</em>. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He dreamt of fire and death, release and freedom. </p><p> </p><p>He wished he could escape. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:14 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He hadn't even died. </p><p>Yet...</p><p>here he was</p><p>again.</p><p> </p><p>hopeless hopeless</p><p>helpless helpless</p><p>terrible</p><p> </p><p>everything</p><p>makes</p><p>him</p><p>want</p><p>to</p><p>die</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:27 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He was drinking again. </p><p>The SQUIP had been talking so loudly </p><p>(<em>it was so loud</em>) </p><p>and he craved emancipation. </p><p>(<em>and apparently he couldn't fucking kill himself</em>)</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em> 6:39 AM </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em> OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019 </em></strong>
</p><p>He walked out of his house, bottle in hand, aimless direction. </p><p>What else was there to do? </p><p>So he trudged along the sidewalk in the pouring rain, waiting for...</p><p>something.</p><p>He took another sip. He hadn't even put on a coat. He shivered. Nothing mattered. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>7:01 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>He didn't know where he was anymore. </p><p>He didn't really care. </p><p>His beer was gone, though. That made him worry. How long would it take before his SQUIP returned? He should kill himself before then, just so he won't have to deal with it before this morning arrived again. </p><p>That's when he heard a voice call out to him. He turned around wearily to see—</p><p><em> Michael</em>. </p><p>“Rich?” he asked, cautiously. Rich let out a grunt of approval. Michael looked him up and down worriedly. “Um, are you... okay?”</p><p>“Peachy,” Rich grumbled, swaying. He was definitely tipsy. He felt disgusting. </p><p>“Do... you want to come inside?” Rich blinked; Michael gestured to the house they stood in the driveway of. “To, uh, dry off?”</p><p>He didn't have the energy to refute him. Michael led him inside, gently taking the bottle from his hand and wrapping a towel around his shoulders, sitting him in the kitchen and placing a plate of Eggo waffles in front of him. Rich was flabbergasted. </p><p>“Sorry we don't have anything nicer,” Michael said. “I would make french toast or something, but—”</p><p>“This is good,” Rich interrupted, hoarsely. “Thanks, Headphones.” </p><p>His lisp shone through his words and he clapped a hand over his mouth. Shit, without the SQUIP on he couldn't hide it. Now he would be exposed as a <em> freak </em> and a <em> loser </em> and—</p><p>“You're welcome, Rich.” Michael placed a tall glass of water in front of him. “You've obviously had a lot to drink. I didn't realize popular kids partied so hard <em> before </em> school.”</p><p>Michael thought he was lisping because he was drunk. He breathed a shaky sigh of relief. </p><p>“So, um, what're you doing?” Michael asked, sitting next to him. </p><p>“I don't know,” he admitted, taking a bite of the waffle without adding anything to it. “I'm just so tired.”</p><p>“You should've stayed in bed, then.”</p><p>Rich shook his head sadly. “Not that type of tired.”</p><p>“Oh... Rich, are you...” Michael trailed off, biting his lip. Rich glanced at him; the bags under his eyes spoke for themselves. “Were you trying to hurt yourself?” Michael asked, tentatively. “When you were walking around without rain gear and clearly, uh, intoxicated?”</p><p>Rich shrugged. <em> Was </em> he trying to hurt himself? Nothing felt real anymore; <em> he </em>didn't feel real anymore. </p><p>What was the point </p><p>of doing anything worthwhile </p><p>if he was just going to wake up </p><p>this morning </p><p>again?</p><p>
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</p><p>“I'm staying home today,” Michael said. “I don't think you're in any state to be alone right now.”</p><p>Rich didn't argue. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>8:28 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“It's called Apocalypse of the Damned,” Michael said, plopping down on the bean bag chair next to Rich. “It's my favourite game, but I'm stuck on level nine.”</p><p>Rich said nothing. </p><p>He was so out of place here. </p><p>Michael offered him a controller; he shook his head. The game booted up and Michael hummed as he battled zombies. </p><p>Rich zoned out. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>9:37 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” Rich asked. </p><p>Michael shrugged. “You needed help.”</p><p> </p><p>Huh. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>10:16 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>He was clad in Michael's t-shirt, </p><p>Michael's sweatpants, </p><p>in Michael's bedroom, </p><p>in Michael's house,</p><p>and </p><p>everything</p><p>was</p><p>Michael.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Michael </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Michael </em>
</p><p><em> Michael</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He dreamt of safety </p><p>and warmth,</p><p>happiness and </p><p>Michael</p><p>Michael</p><p>Michael.</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <strong> <em>2:34 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em> <code>Richard Goranski. </code> </em>
</p><p>Oh no. </p><p> </p><p>He writhed when his SQUIP electrocuted him harshly. </p><p>“Rich?” </p><p>Michael looked startled. </p><p><em> <code>What are you doing, Richard? </code> </em> the AI demanded ferociously, its barrage of voltage never ceasing. <em> <code>Deactivating me with alcohol? All to mope around in the rain and hang out with a loser, like Michael Mell? Because, what, you think you're reliving Halloween over and over again? </code> </em></p><p>“STOP IT! STOP IT!” Rich was sobbing now, electric currents flowing through his body, </p><p>sharp, </p><p>strong,</p><p>harsh,</p><p>pain</p><p>pain</p><p>pain</p><p>pain</p><p>pain—</p><p> </p><p><em> <code>Leave this house. Get ready for the party tonight</code></em>, the SQUIP snapped, finally slowing his attack to a dull current. </p><p>Rich was vibrating uncomfortably. </p><p>Michael was gawking at him. </p><p> </p><p>“What are <em> you </em> staring at?” he snarled, pushing Michael aside. </p><p>He fled from the house. </p><p> </p><p>He was still wearing Michael's clothes. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>9:21 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“I think I'm going crazy,” he slurred to no one in particular. </p><p> </p><p>He poured the gasoline </p><p>over his head,</p><p>wetting his hair,</p><p>his clothes, </p><p>his skin,</p><p> </p><p>and</p><p>lit</p><p>the</p><p>match.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>6:14 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p><em> Is there a point disobeying? </em>he asked. </p><p>
  <em> <code>No, of course not.</code> </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He dragged his feet,</p><p>movement sluggish,</p><p>sad,</p><p>broken,</p><p>fatigued,</p><p>already dead. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>8:28 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Watch it, Headphones.” </p><p>His voice was so small, so weak. </p><p>Michael blinked. </p><p>“Um, Rich, are you—?”</p><p>
  <em> <code>Keep moving.</code> </em>
</p><p>Rich obeyed. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>11:46 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>He gazed at the shoe box; </p><p>it did not gaze back.</p><p>
  <em> <code>Take it. </code> </em>
</p><p>He obeyed. </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <strong> <em>9:45 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>Nothing changed. </p><p>He had followed every order, every suggestion, everything. </p><p> </p><p>He laid down. </p><p>Fire licked at his flesh.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>everything hurt.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>6:14 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p><em> What am I doing wrong? </em>he asked. </p><p><em> <code>Nothing,</code> </em>it responded.</p><p> </p><p>The SQUIP didn't sound confident. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>8:28 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Watch it, Michael.”</p><p>“I—okay. Sorry, Rich.”</p><p>His SQUIP looked at him disapprovingly. He kept walking. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>12:24 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Are you all right, dude?”</p><p>This was the first time something else at school had changed. Every other repeat, Jeremy had only whispered sarcastic comments about their lesson, no doubt prompted by his SQUIP. Now, he was peering at him with furrowed brows, asking if he was okay. </p><p>Rich almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. </p><p>
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</p><p>“Yeah. I'm fine.”</p><p>
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  <strong> <em>7:47 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Do I need to go to the party?” Rich asked, staring at his reflection in the mirror. </p><p>He looked like a shell of a person, </p><p>ready to succumb </p><p>to the piteous</p><p>yearning</p><p>in his heart.</p><p>
  <em> <code>Yes, Richard. Why do you wish to stay home? Home is where your father is. </code> </em>
</p><p>Rich remembered the image of his dad passed out on the sofa, surrounded by empty bottles, television playing some sports game—if Rich was around when he woke, he wouldn't be able to avoid a harsh beating. </p><p>Right. Party, it is.</p><p>
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</p><p>Unsurprisingly, the evening ended in smoke and screaming. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>6:14 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>He downed a bottle of beer and started walking to school. He wasn't sure what else to do—he had exhausted all of his other options. All that was left was attending school without the SQUIP in his head. He hadn't gone to school without his SQUIP in two years. </p><p>He kicked a rock in his path; it splashed through a puddle. </p><p> </p><p>He was beginning to give up hope of living to see November. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>8:28 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>He was <em> definitely </em> tipsy. </p><p>He literally stumbled into Michael this time. Instead of admonishing him, Rich gripped the sleeves of his hoodie and attempted to steady himself. He remembered how kind Michael had been to him, however-many repeats ago; he felt tears begin to well in his eyes. </p><p>“Whoa, Rich, are you—?” His voice petered out when Rich looked up at him, lip quivering. “Oh. Uh...” He glanced around—no one else cared. “Okay, um... Uh, okay, c'mon.”</p><p>Michael gingerly led Rich out of the double doors, to an area where the pavement was covered. A chill breeze made him shudder. He and Michael sat together on the concrete; Michael's hand rested on his back lightly, right between his shoulder blades. Rich held his breath to stop the floodgates from opening. </p><p>“Um, can you—I mean, are you able to, uh, breathe?”</p><p>Rich opened his mouth </p><p> </p><p>and let out a wretched sob. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>9:16 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>Michael let him cry. </p><p>(<em>Get all the tears out, he'd said. Rich had only wept harder</em>.)</p><p>He didn't know how long they sat there—Michael rubbing circles on his back, him bawling like a child—but when he could cry no longer, he felt something lifting from his chest. </p><p>“God, I must look like such a wimp,” Rich sniffed, wiping his eyes harshly. </p><p>“No way. This makes you look more, like, an actual <em> person</em>, y'know?” Michael didn't retract his hand, circling, circling, circling. “When you act tough literally all the time, it feels robotic and fake. Uh, it sucks seeing you this torn up about shit, though. I don't want to pry, but I feel like I deserve a little bit of an explanation.”</p><p>Rich released a hollow laugh. </p><p>“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”</p><p>“Maybe not. But half an hour ago I wouldn't've believed I'd be sitting out in the rain comforting my bully either, so you might as well try me.”</p><p>He blinked. </p><p> </p><p>Then he took a deep breath in.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Have you ever seen Groundhog Day?”</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>10:51 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“So,” Michael spoke deliberately, “you've lived this exact day... <em> how </em> many times?”</p><p>Rich shrugged. He never thought to keep count. </p><p>“Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Rich waited for the question—the skepticism, the doubt—for two minutes before he realized it wasn't coming. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay?” he repeated, astounded. Michael <em> believed </em>him? Just like that? </p><p>Michael shrugged. “I don't think you'd lie to me. At least, not in such a ridiculous way, after crying your eyes out.”</p><p>Rich cringed; Michael sipped his coke. </p><p> </p><p>McDonald's felt like the most apropos place for whatever the fuck was going on here. </p><p> </p><p>“I just don't know how to stop it,” Rich said, shoulders hunched, staring at the fries in the centre of the table. </p><p>“Well, have you tried the whole ‘changing your attitude and bettering everyone else's lives’ thing? That's what Bill Murray did in the movie.”</p><p> </p><p>Rich had considered that. </p><p> </p><p>But everytime he did</p><p>he was given a sharp reminder</p><p>of why</p><p>“That's not possible for me.”</p><p> </p><p>Michael ate a fry. “Well, sure it is! It's never too late to be nice to people. I mean, look at you now.” Rich didn't want to—he could only see the skin he was trapped in, keeping him here, on this day. “You bared your soul to me and now we're sharing a large fries.”</p><p>Rich nodded slowly, though he knew his SQUIP would never let that continue once it returned. He'd have to be drunk every time or miraculously find some Mountain Dew Red... </p><p>“How many times has this happened, by the way?”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“How many times have you and I done this?” Michael reiterated, gesturing to the food between them. </p><p>“Oh. This is the only time.”</p><p>“Well... I guess I'm honoured. There must be something special about me, huh?” Michael joked, grinning widely. </p><p>
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</p><p>Yeah... There really was.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They didn't go back to school,</p><p>yet Rich continued to learn. </p><p> </p><p>Michael liked anything that could be considered retro or vintage.</p><p>Michael liked Pixar movies. </p><p> </p><p>Michael felt outcast from society,</p><p>from <em> everyone</em>,</p><p>so he tried to embrace that; </p><p>it didn't always work. </p><p> </p><p>Michael watched Space Jam every year.</p><p>Michael liked video games. </p><p> </p><p>Michael yearned for representation—</p><p>he yearned to feel <em> seen</em>,</p><p>by the media,</p><p>by society, </p><p>by his peers. </p><p> </p><p>Michael only ever had one cavity in his entire life. </p><p>Michael liked the colour red. </p><p> </p><p>Michael wasn't so lame,</p><p>so deplorable,</p><p>so undesirable </p><p>as the SQUIP claimed he was. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Rich liked listening to Michael. </p><p>Rich liked watching Michael. </p><p>Rich liked sitting with Michael. </p><p>Rich liked talking to Michael. </p><p> </p><p>Rich liked Michael's eyes,</p><p>Michael's smile,</p><p>Michael's hair,</p><p>Michael's hands,</p><p>Michael's voice,</p><p>Michael's...</p><p>Rich liked Michael's...</p><p>Michael...</p><p> </p><p>Michael.</p><p> </p><p>He liked Michael. </p><p> </p><p>No, he <em> liked </em> Michael. </p><p> </p><p>(<em>Michael </em></p><p>
  <em> Michael </em>
</p><p><em> Michael</em>)</p><p> </p><p>And he <em> liked </em> liking Michael. </p><p>
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</p><p>Shit. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>1:23 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“I don't want to end this,” Rich said, as they stood in the rain. </p><p>“Then don't.”</p><p>Michael spoke as though it were that easy. </p><p>Rich shook his head. “I can't. I—I'll hurt you if I stay.”</p><p>“You don't look like you want to,” Michael said, quietly. </p><p>His eyes seemed longing; Rich stayed silent. </p><p>“I never thought I'd be <em> wanting </em> to spend time with you, but you're—” </p><p>Michael gesticulated vaguely, cheeks aflame. </p><p>(<em>Why was he blushing? It was just him and Rich</em>.) </p><p>“You're really nice when you're stuck in a time loop, apparently.”</p><p>Rich's shoulders slumped. </p><p> </p><p>“What happens when I wake up today again,” he whispered, “and you don't remember this?”</p><p>“You do the same thing you did today.”</p><p>“Cry all over you?”</p><p>“Be real.”</p><p> </p><p>That seemed doable.</p><p>
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  <strong> <em>2:34 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p><em> <code>Rich</code> </em>.</p><p><em> Hey</em>, Rich sighed, giving the hologram a lazy salute. It did not look pleased. </p><p>
  <em> <code>Why did you choose to drink an alcoholic beverage and cry to Michael Mell about your fictional problems?</code> </em>
</p><p><em> Maybe my problem isn't fictional</em>, he retorted, stepping out of the shower tiredly. <em> Maybe, just maybe, I'm not making this shit up.  </em></p><p>The SQUIP shook its head, glitching momentarily. <em> <code>You are insufferable, Richard. </code> </em></p><p>
  <em> I try my best.  </em>
</p><p>He vigorously rubbed his head with a towel, hair disheveled in a way that caused the AI to frown. It briefly zapped him—<em>a warning</em>—and he straightened up. </p><p><em> <code>Get ready for the party tonight. And</code></em>, the SQUIP mused, <em> <code>perhaps we should keep you away from the alcohol. </code> </em></p><p>
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  <strong> <em>8:19 PM</em> </strong>
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  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>He was forced to veer clear of alcohol for two hours, </p><p>volts coursing through his veins if he so much as breathed near a drink;</p><p>he <em> needed </em> to get this thing out of his head. </p><p>
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</p><p>When Jake asked him to taste test a new beer brand he'd bought, Rich had enthusiastically downed the entire can before the SQUIP could get a word in.</p><p>
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</p><p>(<em>“So? Verdict?” </em></p><p><em> Rich choked in reply</em>.)</p><p>
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</p><p>He stumbled upstairs, knocking into Jeremy in the process. Muttered apologies didn't reach his ears (<em>Jeremy didn't care about him, anyway</em>) and he pushed into the bathroom unsteadily. He keeled over the toilet bowl, heaving his guts out, without noticing the other person in the room. </p><p>That beer was <em> atrocious</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Rich?”</p><p>Rich lifted his head wearily. </p><p>Michael sat on the edge of the tub, sniffling and hurriedly wiping his eyes. Rich felt his heart pang. </p><p>“Michael?”</p><p>Michael hesitantly knelt next to him, hand rubbing circles on his back for the second time that day. Rich leaned into the touch. </p><p>“I didn't know you were invited,” he mumbled, tiredly. </p><p>“I wasn't. I—I mean—it's stupid.”</p><p>Rich shook his head instantaneously; nothing about Michael was stupid, not in the slightest. </p><p>“I came to see Jeremy,” he muttered, glaring at his lap. “To warn him about his—to, uh, to warn him about something. But, he doesn't care about me anymore.”</p><p>“Fuck Jeremy,” Rich spat. </p><p> </p><p>Michael chuckled, nudging Rich fondly. “I'm glad you're here, Rich.”</p><p>(<em>His heart beat faster, like</em>—)</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>(<em>Sha-la-la</em>—)</p><p>“Yeah. You've been really nice today and I liked being around you.” </p><p>(<em>Na-na-na</em>—)</p><p>“I...”</p><p>(<em>Rah-rah-rah</em>—)</p><p>“I like being around you too, Michael.”</p><p>(<em>Bop-sha-bop</em>—)</p><p>Michael smiled at him and—oh god, that <em> smile</em>. </p><p>
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</p><p>“I hate myself,” Rich blurted, emotions bubbling over. Michael blinked in bewilderment. “I—I keep trying to die—<em>I've killed myself so many times</em>—but I keep coming <em> back</em>, waking up this morning again! An-and my fucking SQUIP won't let me do anything nice and it wants me to SQUIP the entire school and—”</p><p>“Hold on, SQUIP?” Michael's eyes widened. “I forgot you were the one who told Jeremy about them.”</p><p>Rich nodded sorrowfully. “I'm so sorry... I ruined his life; I ruined <em> your </em> life! I just ruin everything!”</p><p>“No, no, Rich, you don't—”</p><p>“I <em> do</em>!” </p><p> </p><p>He was weeping again. </p><p> </p><p>“I—I'm sorry!</p><p>I'm s-sorry—</p><p>I'm so <em> so </em> sorry...”</p><p>
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</p><p>He locked himself in Jake's bedroom</p><p>and cried himself to sleep. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>6:14 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>He woke up filled with regrets. </p><p>He had ruined <em> everything </em> with Michael. Not that it mattered, either way. </p><p>
  <em> <code>Michael?</code> </em>
</p><p><em> Oh, right, you don't remember, you piece of shit machine</em>, Rich grumbled. <em> I've been reliving the same day over and over, and my last repeat, I became friends with Michael. Anti-Social Headphones Kid, that is.  </em></p><p>
  <em> <code>Don't associate with him. </code> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, he's a loser, or a geek, or whatever you want to call him— </em>
</p><p>
  <em> <code>Precisely. </code> </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I like him! I think he's cool, frankly.  </em>
</p><p>There was a lull, then the SQUIP chuckled sinisterly. </p><p><em> <code>Ah, I see, </code> </em> it jeered. <em> <code>You have a little crush. </code> </em> Rich's eyes widened. <em> <code>No need to lie to me, Richard; I'm inside your brain. I thought we purged you of this so-called bisexuality a long time ago. </code> </em></p><p>He had forgotten. When he first got his SQUIP, he <em> knew </em> he was bi, he had known since he was nine, but then...</p><p>
  <em> How did you make me forget? </em>
</p><p>The SQUIP shrugged, with a sly grin on its face. Rich growled, balling up his fists furiously. How <em> dare </em>it take away a part of his identity? </p><p><em> <code>Your identity doesn't matter. </code> </em> It circled him menacingly. <em> <code>Twenty-three months, fourteen days, nine hours, and forty-two minutes ago, you told me your goal was to be liked. And have I not done an upstanding job? You are popular, you have friends, you skate by in class... All of that would go away if you clung to this asinine idea of bisexuality—more accurately, repressed homosexuality. </code> </em></p><p><em> Being bi is different, </em> he argued. <em> I like girls, too. It's not gay or straight, it's bi.  </em></p><p>
  <em> <code>Ah, but teenagers don't care about such a distinction. Think, Rich, to what jokes you make that your friends laugh at?</code> </em>
</p><p><em> I—you make me say those jokes! </em>Rich spluttered, taking a step back. </p><p>The SQUIP shrugged. <em> <code>But they laugh, don't they? Everything I do, I do for your benefit, Richard. </code> </em></p><p>He sat down, fatigued already. <em> Please, just... I just want today to stop repeating. Please.  </em></p><p><em> <code>Richard</code></em>, it sighed, <em> <code>you cannot keep spouting this fabrication. I have already established, I am in your brain, you cannot lie—</code> </em></p><p><em> If you're in my brain, why can't you see it? </em> Rich demanded, frantically. <em> I have memories of these days I've lived over and over and over and I want out! </em></p><p>It paused. It seemed to be accessing his hippocampus, if the sting in his head was any indication to go by. He waited, leg bouncing incessantly. Would it find anything? If it didn't, then why not? </p><p>He was shocked abruptly, buzzing as waves jolted through his body. </p><p>
  <em> <code>You are quite a storyteller, Rich. No wonder you were solely prolific in English class before I took over. </code> </em>
</p><p>“You can't see it?” he cried. </p><p>It zapped him for speaking aloud, even in the confines of his own home. </p><p>
  <em> <code>There is no indication of Thursday, October 31st, 2019, occurring previously. I am befuddled as to how you are able to lie so eloquently to me, though. </code> </em>
</p><p>Rich let his head drop into his hands. “Okay... Okay. Let's just get this over with.”</p><p> </p><p>Before he left his house, he made a decision. </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <strong> <em>8:28 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>He bumped into Michael, naturally. </p><p><em> <code>Tell him to watch himself, </code> </em>the SQUIP ordered. </p><p>“Careful, Michael,” he said, smiling sadly. “Don't want you to get hurt.”</p><p>Michael blinked. “Oh. Uh... thanks, Rich.”</p><p>
  <em> <code>Richard—</code> </em>
</p><p>“See you around.” Rich waved, continuing on his way to class. His SQUIP reprimanded him and told him to obey next time. He nodded, but felt a grin spread across his face.</p><p>Michael stared after him, baffled. </p><p>
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</p><p>He reminded Jake to tuck his legs under him before Mr. Gretch could trip;</p><p>he lent Brooke a pencil before she had to ask;</p><p>he warned Dustin that Chloe was in a bad mood;</p><p>he genuinely listened to Jenna's rumour and played along;</p><p>when Brooke picked his eyelash off his cheek, he wished for a new day;</p><p>he cautioned Madeline against swearing when the teacher was nearby; </p><p>and then came the afternoon.</p><p> </p><p>(He took the shoebox when the SQUIP commanded it; it wasn't like he'd have an opportunity to use it before he reset, anyways.)</p><p> </p><p>He snickered at Jeremy's jokes;</p><p>he whispered the right answer to Dustin when he got called on;</p><p>he politely reminded Mrs. Beechman to turn off her ringtone;</p><p>he complied with his SQUIP's story suggestion; </p><p>he had his answer ready when Jake asked about alcohol;</p><p>he told Brooke she could keep the pencil when she tried to return it;</p><p>he cleaned up the bottles scattered around his dad's spot on the sofa; </p><p>and he felt satisfied. </p><p> </p><p>He'd done the whole Groundhog Day thing, like Michael had suggested, and his SQUIP had even <em> let </em>him do it. Victory was sweet. He had a spring in his step as he got his costume ready for the party. He was going to see November 1 this time; he could taste it. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>7:22 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>He hadn't been forced to steer clear of alcohol this time, so he mixed and mingled with a red solo cup in hand, grinning as the night went on. </p><p>Wow, he really felt a lot better about himself after being a nice person. </p><p> </p><p>He reminisced on the first Halloween</p><p>—<em>before any of the repeats, the very first time he had experienced October 31, 2019</em>—</p><p>and how he had been so woeful,</p><p>so desolate,</p><p>so inconsolable,</p><p>so <em> hopeless </em></p><p>that he had tried to commit suicide</p><p>(<em>and tried again and again and again—</em>)</p><p>and now, </p><p>he didn't quite feel that way,</p><p>not actively. </p><p>He wasn't going to attempt that,</p><p>not tonight. </p><p> </p><p>Tonight, </p><p>he was </p><p>alive. </p><p>
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</p><p>
  <strong> <em>8:13 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>Michael was in the bathroom. </p><p>He remembered that, from the last repeat. Michael had been crying in the bathroom, all by himself. He needed to find him, to make sure he was okay. </p><p>He staggered down the hall, knocking on the bathroom door. He could hear muffled sobs from within and the sound of splashing water. He knocked again, gentler. </p><p>“Michael?” he asked, softly. </p><p>The shuffling stopped. </p><p>The door creaked open, agonizingly slow, and Michael peeked out at him with red eyes. </p><p>“How'd you know I was in here?” </p><p>Rich faltered for a moment, then made up his mind. </p><p>“Can I come in? I have a very long, very crazy story for you.”</p><p>
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</p><p>After reciting his tale, Michael peered at him quizzically. Rich held his breath. Would he believe him? He had before, why wouldn't he now? </p><p> </p><p>“That... actually makes sense.”</p><p>Rich blinked. </p><p>“Uh, what?”</p><p>“I've been having this weird sense of déjà vu all day,” Michael said. “I mean, <em> I </em> can't remember living today over and over, but it was just something where I felt like...” He shrugged. “Like stuff was just familiar, but, like, <em> everything </em> was familiar, y'know? And then you were nice to me this morning, and... There was something in me that felt like we had bonded before. I don't know.” He suddenly seemed very embarrassed. “Sorry, I don't know, that's probably weird—”</p><p>“No, no, that's—I mean, we <em> did</em>,” Rich said, excitedly. “We sat at McDonald's and—and I cried, and we told each other stuff, and it was—it felt like I finally had a real friend...”</p><p>“Told each other stuff?” Michael piped up, curiously. </p><p>“Yeah, we talked about video games and Looney Tunes and Pixar and the colour red and deep stuff too,” Rich rambled, beaming. “Like, you taught me about representation and how you feel out of place and I told you how I—” Michael was going red as he spoke, should he stop? “Sorry, I shouldn't, uh...”</p><p>“No, I'm just—” Michael fiddled with his fingers nervously. “You—you're really cute when you smile.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p> </p><p><em> Oh</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“O-Oh. Um... really?” Rich was sure that he was blushing now, too. Michael nodded, averting his eyes deliberately. “I—I think you're really cute, too... I, uh, I figured it out last time—the last repeat, I mean—and then, this morning, my SQUIP totally called me out on it and I wasn't going to say anything at all and I'm definitely talking too much, I'm sorry—”</p><p>“SQUIP?”</p><p>Rich glanced up at him, guiltily. “Oh. Yeah, I'm the one who introduced Jeremy to it, remember? I'm really <em> really </em> sorry about that, by the way! I regret it <em> so </em> much now—I don't even want mine anymore—”</p><p>“How do you get rid of it?” Michael asked. </p><p>Rich chuckled bitterly. “It's impossible.”</p><p>“No way. There has to be a way to—”</p><p>“There <em> is</em>,” Rich interjected, “but it's impossible to get. Trust me, I've tried.”</p><p>“What is it?” Michael insisted. “C'mon, you <em> need </em>to get that thing out of your head!”</p><p>Rich sighed. “Mountain Dew Red. The one that was discontinued in the nineties.”</p><p>“Holy shit.”</p><p>“I know,” Rich bemoaned. “It's—”</p><p>“No, no, I mean, like—<em>holy shit</em>.” Rich watched him questioningly; his eyes were wide as saucers. “Dude, I can get you Mountain Dew Red.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?”</p><p>Michael was bouncing eagerly now, grin widening. “I know this guy who can get us some Red! I just got some Ecto Cooler from him last month—Rich!” He was elated; Rich had never seen anything so beautiful. “You could be free!”</p><p>“When can we get some?” Rich asked, enthusiastically. </p><p>He couldn't believe this was actually a possibility; he had dreamed of it every day for the past month (<em>not even counting all of those repeats</em>) and it felt unreal to imagine it could truly happen.</p><p>“Um, probably by tomorrow afternoon or evening?”</p><p>Rich's face fell. Of course, it was too good to be true. By tomorrow, it would be too late. </p><p>“Hey, no, don't get sad now,” Michael commanded, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Look, I have a plan. If you wake up tomorrow and it's actually <em> tomorrow</em>, I'll order some Red and force it down your throat if I need to. But, if you wake up and it's today again, then just find me at school and explain everything. I'll understand.”</p><p> </p><p>With happy tears streaming down his face, Rich launched himself at Michael, hugging him tightly. </p><p>
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</p><p>“Thank you, Michael! <em> Thank you</em>!”</p><p>
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  <strong> <em>6:14 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>With a game plan in mind, Rich got straight to work. </p><p>He took a swig of beer, relinquishing the SQUIP's control over him for a little while. He put the bottle in his backpack, ready to drink more if he felt the computer's influence creeping back in, and practically skipped to Jake's car when it pulled up. </p><p> </p><p>(<em>“Looking fly, Jakey D!” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Aw, thanks, Richie G! You're awfully chipper today.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Guess you could say I have a date.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Eyyy, nice, bro!” </em>
</p><p><em> Rich's smile never left his face</em>.)</p><p> </p><p>Entering the school building had never felt quite so nerve-wracking. He took a deep breath in; here goes everything. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>8:28 AM</em> </strong>
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  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Yo, Michael!”</p><p>Michael tensed upon hearing the school bully call his name, but he didn't have time to say anything before Rich yanked him aside, out the doors, into the rain. </p><p>“I need Mountain Dew Red,” Rich said erratically, getting straight to the point. Michael blinked in confusion, rain drops hitting his glasses. Rich didn't give him time to argue, shoving him towards the bus stop. “I'll explain<em> everything </em>on the way, I promise. Just—please.”</p><p>Michael finally nodded, taking charge of his own feet. “Okay. But you better have a damn good explanation.”</p><p>“Trust me, I do.”</p><p>
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</p><p>(<em>“So, we've hung out before?” </em></p><p>
  <em> “Yeah. I've heard your favourite Pixar movies ranked, dude.” </em>
</p><p><em> “Damn. We got </em> really <em> close, then.”</em>)</p><p>
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  <strong> <em>9:52 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“Spencer's Gifts?” Rich asked, readjusting his backpack straps anxiously. </p><p>Michael nodded. “This dude gets me <em> all </em>my discontinued pop.”</p><p>Rich couldn't help but let out a snort. “I love that you just buy old soda all the time. That's so—”</p><p>“Lame?”</p><p>“I was gonna say cute, but to each their own.” Michael's cheeks flushed; Rich grinned. “Like I said: cute.”</p><p>“Well, are you ready?” Michael asked, coughing. </p><p> </p><p>Was he ready?</p><p>He imagined all of those days,</p><p>the repeated actions,</p><p>the pain,</p><p>the attempts,</p><p>the depression,</p><p>the hollowness,</p><p>the boredom,</p><p>the loneliness...</p><p>then he thought of Michael,</p><p>and he knew.</p><p> </p><p>“I've been ready all day.”</p><p>
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</p><p>(<em>Michael's hookup was a guy named Dave, who looked like he was in college and maybe still lived with his mom and either vaped or smoked weed or maybe both and had a scraggly beard and was pretty nice overall, though pretty monotone. </em></p><p>
  <em> He said he could have a shipment of Mountain Dew Red by that evening; Rich nearly broke down in tears right then and there.  </em>
</p><p><em> It </em> <em>was </em> <em>finally </em><em>happening</em>.)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>12:20 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>They went back to Michael's house afterwards. Everything was just as Rich remembered it from however-many resets ago. Michael tossed him the same towel, offered him the same baggy clothes to change into, and Rich accepted it all. </p><p>Taking periodic sips of alcohol to keep the SQUIP at bay, Rich found himself enjoying an afternoon with Michael Mell.</p><p> </p><p>(<em>“Apocalypse of the Damned?” Rich suggested.  </em></p><p><em> Michael beamed</em>.)</p><p> </p><p>And when Michael </p><p>shyly </p><p>linked his pinky </p><p>with Rich's, </p><p>the entire world</p><p>seemed to fall</p><p>into place. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>6:32 PM</em> </strong>
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  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>Rich was out of beer. They were putting on their still-damp sneakers, ready to head back to the mall before the SQUIP returned, when Michael's mothers entered the house. </p><p>“Micah! You didn't tell us you were having a friend over today,” the shorter woman exclaimed, beaming at her son. </p><p>“Oh, uh, yeah, it was a last minute thing,” Michael said, standing next to Rich awkwardly. “We were just heading out to the mall actually, so—”</p><p>“Hi, my name is Noor, and this is my wife, Mahalina,” the taller woman said, smiling at Rich with her hand offered to him. He shook it politely. “And what's your name, honey?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, I'm Rich,” he said. “Rich Goranski.”</p><p>“It's so lovely to meet you, Rich!”</p><p>“You must stay for dinner, I insist,” Mahalina said, hanging her coat up. “You two can go to the mall afterward.”</p><p>“Oh, uhhh—”</p><p>“<em>Nanay</em>, we need to meet someone,” Michael cut in, pushing Rich towards the door, giving his moms an apologetic look. “Um, maybe Rich will come back with me after, but we really have to go or we'll be late.”</p><p>“Yeah! Sorry, Mrs. and, uh, Mrs. Mell! Bye!”</p><p>The women chorused a goodbye and Michael shut the front door behind them. He laughed abashedly. </p><p>“Sorry about them.” He held up car keys, with a grin. “Let's get that computer out of your head.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Watching Michael drive was maybe the hottest thing Rich had ever witnessed; </p><p>the way his fingers drummed across the steering wheel;</p><p>the way his eyes occasionally drifted from the road to Rich, cheeks red;</p><p>the way he mouthed the words to songs on the radio; </p><p>the way he gave a grateful wave, acknowledging when someone let him into a lane;</p><p>the way he casually reached for Rich's hand across the centre console...</p><p>Rich was <em> totally </em>bi. </p><p>
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  <strong> <em>7:59 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>Sitting in the food court with a bottle of Mountain Dew Red between them, </p><p>Rich took a shaky breath in. </p><p>He was about to change his entire life for the better. </p><p>Just one sip</p><p>and he would be</p><p>free. </p><p> </p><p>Michael gave his hand a gentle squeeze;</p><p>he raised the bottle to his lips...</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> <code>NO!</code> </em>
</p><p>Spasming as he was electrocuted, the bottle dropped to the floor. <em> No no no no no no! Not now! </em> He felt his legs being tugged without his consent, pulling, pulling, <em> pulling </em> until he was on his feet and running, stumbling out of the food court. Michael was shouting after him. He tried to free himself, to escape the control of the hivemind in his brain, to no avail. </p><p><em> <code>You are not thinking clearly, Richard. You don't want to drink that. </code> </em> It kept forcing him forward, footsteps pounding, staggering out of the mall. <em> <code>You want me. You need me. </code> </em></p><p>“No!” he screamed, as rain drenched him. Other mall-goers steered clear of him. He was no longer running, frozen under a tree. “No, no, no! I don't want you! I don't need you! Leave me alone!”</p><p><em> <code>Think about what you're doing, Rich, </code> </em> it cooed, gently, seductively. <em> <code>You're screaming at the rain outside of the Menlo Park Mall. Without me here to guide you, how will you convince anyone you're not crazy?</code> </em></p><p>“I don't care if people think I'm crazy,” Rich hissed. “I just want you to get out of my fucking head!”</p><p><em> <code>Sleep on it,</code> </em> the SQUIP urged. <em> <code>You'll feel differently tomorrow. </code> </em></p><p>“I'm not going to <em> have </em> a tomorrow!” </p><p>He was shrieking and sobbing and batting his fists at the trunk of the tree. Rain mixed with tears as it slid down his face. He was devastated. </p><p>He would never break out of this hell. </p><p>
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</p><p>Suddenly, he felt arms wrap around him. His SQUIP was screaming in his head and he couldn't hear anything else. He didn't know what was going on. Was he being kidnapped? Was he being arrested? Was he going to die again?</p><p> </p><p>He felt a bottle against his lips and he knew what to do; </p><p>he gulped the liquid down. </p><p>
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</p><p>“<em>Ow</em>.”</p><p>His captor released him and he touched his head. The sharp stab had been uncomfortable, but he felt okay otherwi—</p><p>“<em>AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH</em>!”</p><p>His entire brain was </p><p>nothing but noise </p><p>and pain. </p><p>“Oh God.”</p><p>Michael. Michael was here. </p><p>He felt his knees buckling. </p><p>“<em>AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH</em>!”</p><p>Everything was overwhelming,</p><p>he had no senses,</p><p>only noise</p><p>and torment.</p><p>“Oh God!”</p><p>Michael was helping him lie on the wet grass now. </p><p>He was still screaming in agony. </p><p>
  <em> <code>Watashi wa nihon kara kimashita!</code> </em>
</p><p>All he knew was suffering—</p><p>
  <em> <code>Watashi wa nihon kara kimashitaaaaa!</code> </em>
</p><p>He was dying, he was <em> dying</em>—!</p><p>
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  <strong> <em>8:21 PM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>OCTOBER 31</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“—od, oh god, oh <em> god</em>, please be alive, god, Rich please be okay—”</p><p>Rich groaned and Michael tackled him in a tight hug. They were still outside the mall, rain gently pitter-pattering around them. Rich could barely move—god, he ached all over—but he managed to limply wrap his arms around Michael. </p><p>“Jesus Christ, that was terrifying,” Michael breathed, gently pulling away. </p><p>The way they were positioned, Michael was practically lying on top of him, hands resting at either side of Rich's head. Rich's heart picked up its pace. He had never been so intimate with a boy before, his SQUIP would've never—</p><p>Wait.</p><p>“It's gone!” Rich exclaimed, forcefully sitting up, grabbing the sides of Michael's face ecstatically. “It's gone! Oh my god, Michael—! Thank you!” </p><p>He started crying again, this time tears of joy and relief. </p><p> </p><p>“God, Michael, I could kiss you!”</p><p>His smile faltered;</p><p>his expression softened.</p><p>“I... I could kiss you...”</p><p> </p><p>Michael swallowed,</p><p>licked his lips,</p><p>eyes trained on Rich,</p><p>and whispered,</p><p> </p><p>“Then do it.”</p><p>
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</p><p>(<em>They sat on Michael's bed, hours later. Rich didn't want to go home; Michael didn't want him to, either. Rich was playing with Michael's fingers.  </em></p><p>
  <em> “I don't want to wake up and have you not be here,” he murmured, staring at their hands.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Michael gently tilted his chin up. “I will be.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “And if you're not?” </em>
</p><p><em> “Then come find me.”</em>)</p><p>
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  <strong> <em>12:01 AM</em> </strong>
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  <strong> <em>NOVEMBER 1</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em> <em> 2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>Rich shook Michael gently; he stirred. </p><p>“I'm still here,” Rich whispered. “It's November and I'm still here.”</p><p>Michael smiled, kissing him chastely. </p><p>“Good.”</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong><em>7:37 AM</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>NOVEMBER 1</em><em><sub>ST</sub> </em><em>2019</em> </strong>
</p><p>“We should probably talk about this,” Rich said, as he and Michael sat together on the floor of his bedroom. </p><p>“Probably.”</p><p>Sun shone through the blinds. It was a strange sight to behold. Rich had almost forgotten that the rain wasn't eternal. </p><p>The light highlighted Michael's face perfectly, casting shadows over the rest of the room; he was the only person who mattered right now. Rich's breath hitched. </p><p>He looked like an angel. </p><p>“So...” Rich shifted. “Um, I like you. Obviously.”</p><p>Michael nodded. “The feeling is mutual.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Rich blurted. “I—I mean, I treated you like shit for the past two years a-and just because this weird time loop thing happened and—and it's broken now, but I don't want you to feel obligated—”</p><p>“Rich.” Michael took his hand tenderly. “I know. But... I feel a connection. You told me how we bonded in those other loops, and I think I retained the bonding, I guess. I <em> wanted </em> to kiss you yesterday, not because I felt obligated, because I think you're funny and sweet and smart and, honestly, very hot.” Rich felt his cheeks burning; Michael chuckled. “But, I think we should take this slow. Just see where it goes. One day at a time, yeah?”</p><p>Rich nodded, lips curving upwards. </p><p>That's right. He didn't need to figure everything out in a day. He wasn't confined to twenty-four hours to make this work.</p><p>“One day at a time.”</p><p>Michael smiled, keeping their hands clasped. Rich gave his hand a gentle squeeze. They could make this work.</p><p>After all, </p><p>they had </p><p>all the time </p><p>in the world. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ASFDFHJKLF IT'S FINISHED!!!!!!</p><p>I literally wrote this fic in, like, four days?? Lol</p><p>Umm let's see what notes do I have...</p><p>Idk for sure why the SQUIP doesn't know Rich is caught in a time loop. I figure that it, like, resets along with the rest of the world, but honestly idk 🤷 I tried</p><p>Did you catch the Love In Hate Nation reference?? 👀 I just love all of Joe Iconis' work 😌✨</p><p>I'm not sure what else to say rn, other than, thank you for reading!!!!!! I hope you all thoroughly enjoyed this fic!!!! I love you all a lot, I'll see you back with my other BMC fics lol</p><p>Comments, kudos, and bookmarks make my day!!! Thank you for supporting my silly lil stories 🤗💜 ~Jayce</p></blockquote></div></div>
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